she reaches
by stydiawrites
Summary: a quick one-shot depicting how I think Lydia's childhood and teenage years went.


she reaches.

it's her **sixth birthday** and her grandmother buys her a _bike_. it's pretty and pink and streamers cascade from both handlebars. _it's the best thing she's ever owned_ , she thinks. **it's her new favorite toy** , she exclaims.

she takes it out for a ride later that evening. after the party is over and _her dad has rushed off to the office_ and her mom has taken to the **wine cabinet**. she just wants to have fun, try out her new gift, and celebrate the last few hours of a day that's entirely _**hers**_.

but then she gets **scared**. a car comes barreling down the street going a little _too fast_ , and she hurries to get out of the way. turns the handles _too sharp,_ **too quick** and it spins out of control.

she **screams** as she tumbles from the bike, tiny rocks _digging_ into the palms of her hands and the bends of her knees. blinks through the tears to peer down at her flesh, _**unsurprised**_ to find blood gushing from a fresh wound.

 _help,_ she cries. _**mommy, help!**_ it hurts, it hurts, it hurts. she cries and she bleeds and she **reaches** , but there's no one there.

she reaches.

she's **twelve** and she waits for her dad to come home. another perfect parent-teacher conference has come and gone, and mrs. langley had _so many_ good things to say. **she's top of her class**. _she reads on a eleventh grade level_. she has the qualities of a _**true leader.**_

her mom bought her a pretty blue dress for her accomplishments and promised to take her to the **movies**. she _loves_ it, loves the way the soft material feels under the pads of her fingers as she twists this way and that in front of her mirror.

but mostly she just wants to tell **him**. wants to see a _proud smile_ break out across his face _**just once**_ ; wants him to know she's doing the best she can.

she waits and she waits and she **waits**. the sun bleeds orange before disappearing from view and _**still she waits.**_

 **midnight**. _one. two. three._ she waits and she waits and **she waits.**

he finally stumbles through the door at _four_ in the morning. she launches for him, a sleepy smile on her face as she starts to tell him the news.

 _ **it's four in the morning, lydia. go to bed.**_ she tries to tell him anyway; tries to explain why she's up, but he cuts her off. _bed._ _ **now**_ _, lydia._

 _she'll tell him in the morning,_ she vows. **he'll be proud then** , she swears. she _**reaches out**_ to give him a hug and a kiss goodnight, but he's already _left_ her behind.

she reaches.

she's **fourteen** and the only freshman at the party. music pulsates around her, and she moves in time to the beat. she's **young** and _she knows it,_ but none of the boys seem to care.

she _drinks_ too much and **laughs** too loud and plays a game she's starting to perfect. boys dance too close, touch too much, whisper too low.

but it's **good** and she's _succeeding_. making a name for herself before the year even really begins. it's _good_ , it's **great** , it's _**perfect**_ — swears it to herself even when her stomach twists unpleasantly at the feeling of a boy's hands between her thighs.

hours later, she wakes in a darkened bedroom that **reeks** of alcohol, hazy details from the night wading through her clouded brain. her stomach _rolls_ and her heart **sinks** , but it's done. _**it's over.**_ she's winning that stupid high school game.

she rolls over in bed and **reaches** — reaches for the boy who earned _her first time_ , not by wit or class or humor, but by _**his popularity**_. she reaches for his _warmth_ and his _caress_ , but is met by a cool mattress and ruffled sheets where he'd once lay.

she reaches.

she's **sixteen** and _she's so scared._ there are bodies piling up all around beacon hills and voices that won't stop _**screaming**_ in her head. mix it all together with a raven-haired boy pressing her tear-stained cheek against cold metal bars and you'll find a **broken,** scared little girl.

 _they're coming_ , she tells herself. _**they'll find me.**_ they won't abandon her in this hell-hole with a boy that looks like stiles but holds no traces of his warmth, his _smile_.

 **and they do** —– _they come for her._ her best friends, her pack. the only _**family**_ she's ever really known. they come for her, but **it's all wrong**. wires get crossed and warnings don't get heeded and there's a sick, _souring_ sensation curling low in her gut.

 _ **'**_ _ **WHO ELSE IS HERE? WHO CAME WITH YOU? WHO ELSE IS HERE? '**_

she doesn't even need to hear a _reply_ because she knows. she knows and the feeling is **worse** and she can't — **she can't lose her best friend.**

 _she runs_. caught in her own race against time, she races through winding, slippery halls and **pleads** for her instincts to be wrong. **NOT HER, NOT HER, PLEASE GOD NOT HER.**

but it's _too late_. fate has dealt its blackened card and somewhere up above, her best friend **collapses** on the cold, hard ground. blood spills from the most flawless skin she's ever known, a bleeding rose wilting before her first love's eyes.

she wants to **reach out** and take her hand, wants to _promise her a thousand more tomorrows_ and a life filled with **blinding** color.

but this time, she **doesn't reach** because she _can't_. she's too far away and her hands are covered in her best friend's blood and she _**screams**_ instead.

she reaches ( _except she doesn't_ ).

she's **seventeen** and _she doesn't reach anymore._ what's the point when your **dad** walked away and your _first love_ left you with nothing more than a key you wore close to your heart and your **_best friend_** bled out before you could stop her? **what's the point** when she's been reaching for ghosts of lost love since she was _**six**_ and her knees were scraped bloody and the world seemed cruel even to her innocent eyes?

 **she's seventeen and** ** _reaching_** **never did her much good anyway.**


End file.
